Chapter Text
John snorted, still pacing the hallway. Why did it take her so long? Harry had been in the changing room for twenty minutes by then, and he was going to be late to the first rugby practice of the year. He glanced at some of the rooms to distract himself, catching glimpses of skinny girls in leotards. Not exactly his cup of tea, he preferred some curves, but there was something quite fascinating in the harmonious way they spun and jumped and -
He almost choked on his breath when his gaze landed on a naked body. It took him good five seconds of shocked staring to finally notice the waistband of a pair of creamy leggings, which offered no contrast with the pale skin of his bare back and sticked to every curve of his thighs and arse. His. Because he was a bloke, and John was staring at him, and he should definitely stop right now if he didn’t want people to misunderstand. And yet John couldn’t look away: the boy was so graceful, his leg stretched up into a vertical split, but his dark, curly mohawk and his tattoos seemed a promise of something more, something interesting, something dangerous. His gaze lingered on the hexagonal pattern on his shoulder, which fragmented and turned into Chemical formulas down his back, and he wished he knew what they meant, he wished he knew everything about this unusual guy.
His sister’s voice startled him, and he quickly looked away, clearing his throat and heading for the exit. An hour later, on the rugby field, lost in the feeling of the Autumn breeze and of his aching muscles, he had already forgotten the bizarre vision in the dance studio, but his dreams that night would be full of messy curls and pointed feet.